The Deftly Paradox

by Matthew D. White

  “Are you kidding?” Benny exploded. “That’s your theory? What the fuck do you think we do in training? Dress in cloaks and flog ourselves with riding crops? We do real work so you dipshits don’t burn down the galaxy. No way; absolutely not. Not unless it was baked into the system on Day One.”

  “I’m really running out of patience here,” Lorde stated. “There is no way we can continue to operate the OSIRIS when you are looking at a mess this convoluted. I don’t mind taking the hit from the council; we need to shut it down until this gets diagnosed and rectified.”

  “Shut what down?”

  “The OSIRIS. Shut down the core,” Lorde said again, gesturing to the server farm spreading out around them. “It’s right here; how hard can that possibly be?”

  The maintainer looked on as if unsure whether to laugh or cry. “This is not OSIRIS’s core.”

  “Bullshit!” Lorde exclaimed and gestured to the others. “They found the backup instances, all destroyed; it’s the same damn thing, right?” He caught Shafer nodding.

  He laughed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry… You, you must be as thick as two short planks. This, along with the backup instances, are nothing more than memory banks coupled to the input and management functions. That’s all we’ve got here. You don’t really think the galaxy was managed from this shitty closet, did you?” He got blank responses. “Good lord, not you,” he turned from the liaison, “but good lord you are fools. OSIRIS’s processing core is on the far side of the base, underneath the fleet’s main staging area, about a mile underground and protected from whatever the universe can throw at it.”

  Benny paused again, going over the faces of his audience. “That’s where you need to go, but good effing luck trying to get yourselves close enough to it to shut it down. Without a command direct from the council, we are the only ones who are allowed to get close, and that is only when OSIRIS itself orders us to make repairs.”

  “But you can falsify orders,” Maddie said.

  “Not these.” The maintainer shook his head. “The planetary defense force on site over there has a direct link to OSIRIS’s core. If the command does not completely originate from within, they’ll know it’s a ruse, and they keep their shit locked down tight.”

  Lorde looked to Maddie and then over to Shafer. “I think we might need to adjust our strategy.”

  “You might be right,” Maddie replied. “This just got a bit more complicated.” Their conversation began to take the attention of the rest of the gathered maintainers, interested equally in the shared concern for their system, as well as the outcome of their time-consuming analysis.

  Shafer stepped forward. “You said the decision to take out New Loeria goes back a century. So, what’s OSIRIS’s reasoning? It can’t just decree a system to be destroyed for no purpose.”

  “You’d be surprised as to the latitude given to OSIRIS to make its decisions; it doesn’t need that much of a reason to do such things. In this case, it did factor in hundreds of reports, many of which built on faulty data, so it’s not like it was made on a whim. The logic is fuzzy at best, but our best estimate is that OSIRIS sees New Loeria as a threat to its sovereignty.”

  “Like, it thinks they are going to rebel against its rule?”

  “Partially, but it’s not quite that clear,” Benny said, his voice trailing down after the outburst. “The sense we get is that it is fearful of their continued existence. We’re still digging backwards. Maybe there’s one flag that’s put up out of place due to a quantum fluctuation that was never caught.”

  Maddie shook her head. “That doesn’t make much sense. I haven’t seen anything roll through the MOC that would suggest a colony the size of New Loeria is preparing to reject OSIRIS’s rule. That would have at least made a daily report. Probably hundreds of them.”

  “Would it try to make an example of them?” Erikson asked. “If it thinks nothing of destroying a whole planet, that could keep a hundred other colonies in line for the foreseeable future. It could have determined that the loss of New Loeria really is the least damaging solution?”

  “I still say that’s a price too high,” countered Maddie. “Could it really wipe out a hundred million people because it thinks by doing so it would save the lives of a hundred-times more in a war?” She looked to Lorde. “Isn’t that why we have a council at all anymore? To do the difficult negotiating? Apply a diplomatic solution that would placate OSIRIS, as well as the populace?”

  “Ideally, yes, but we all know how well that tends to turn out.” Lorde sneered. “Given their current brain trust, I’d be surprised if they didn’t initiate a war by themselves while OSIRIS screams at them to stop.” He scanned between the circle of faces.

  “None of this changes the reality of our current predicament. How the hell are we going to untangle this mess? We need to write off any help from the council.” Lorde turned to the maintenance staff. “If it came down to it, how close to the OSIRIS’s core could you get us? Through transportation, falsified orders, the lot of it, how far would we need to go on foot without any sort of external support?”

  Benny thought for a moment. “It wouldn’t be too far; we could get you clearance to land on the flight line, but there’s no way for us to get you past the defenders within the base. The vault doors are as far as you’d get before you’d need to switch to kinetic options.”

  “How many are we talking?” Shafer asked. “Can you get us some weapons so we can fight our way through?”

  “It’s not many if we can get you past the perimeter of the base, and yes, of course we can get you a weapon drop on the way.” He paused. “But I’m not sure how much influence I want to have on your suicide.”

  “Just tell me how close you can get us,” Lorde demanded again. “Deny the lot of it, I don’t care.”

  The maintainer thought. “There are three checkpoints within the last half mile along the highway to the core. All are underground and are accessible through the vault within the base. We can grant you passage through the facilities on the surface, but once you go underground, you’ll have to start shooting. It has to be done quickly because the first checkpoint will call for reinforcements from the ground and in orbit alike, and if they make it down, you’ll be fucking toast.”

  “If we hit them fast, can we seal ourselves in?” Maddie asked the others.

  Benny shrugged again. “I’ll see what I can do. There might be a function at the station itself, but I’m not sure if I can supply a command that would dissuade the fleet detachment from responding. Enjoy the twilight of your lives.”

  20

  The council hall was empty, the last of the senators having left hours earlier. They were exuberant in their pride, overjoyed by their progress. There on the stage, Senator Leary stood alone, lost in a crowd that considered him nothing less than messianic.

  The voices of his supporters and detractors still echoed in his mind, long after they had been forgotten by the wood fixtures and stone walls. It would be fitting, he decided, that the greatest of highs, once introduced to mankind, would be transformed into another quagmire.

  There were days he had considered taking his own life or running off into exile, preferring never to witness the inferno he had kindled. He had given an excuse to the tyrants, those who would use their positions of honor for increasing their own power, given them the vehicle to canonize the final assault on freedom in the galaxy.

  Senator Leary’s title meant nothing to him, just as the wall of accolades in his office was nothing but a reminder of his failure. Given the opportunity to trade it all away and spend his life in the service ducts of a spaceport, he would have done it in a heartbeat. He turned away from the amphitheater and faced the stairs like a prisoner approaching the gallows. With short, weakened footsteps, he made his way out, a defeated pariah who had unleased a plague upon the galaxy.

  Every wall was adorned with images of their conquests of the past half century. The groundbreaking of the OSIRIS’s core. The fabrication of the
processors. The crowd of cheering faces when the planetary treaties were signed. Leary stopped and looked across the sea of citizens, people who had placed their trust in him.

  From nothing but a flicker, the sense of responsibility grew from deep within him. Whether they knew it or not, whether he knew them by name, it didn’t matter. Leary quickened his pace, stopping only when he had cleared the threshold of his office. There must have been something he missed, he decided, scanning across the myriad of documents related to the OSIRIS’s construction. Soldiers across every age gave their dying breath in service to their countrymen; what a sad excuse he would be if he wouldn’t be willing to do the same.

  ***

  “Estimated time to fleet arrival: thirty minutes,” the shuttle’s navigator reported back through the cabin.

  “That’s it. Showtime!” Mercer called out to his assembled crew. “Get us in the air. I want us to be ready to strike the second they arrive.”

  Along the ramp outside, a flight of aging destroyers planned for their mission as well. They had not chosen the time, the place, nor the manner in which they would meet their ends, but if it was in defense of their world, it would at least be an honorable fate.

  Inside the hold, Mercer looked across his team of soldiers, made heavy by four prior members of a battleship’s crew. One had been an engine maintainer, while two were prior weapons officers, and the last was a retired deck officer, Lieutenant Commander Warner, who had, somewhere in his past life, been unceremoniously separated for questionable conduct while under way. Mercer didn’t ask the seasoned veteran for details, but it was not as if his decision to bring the man along would have hinged on it. What he was currently planning was far more critical and of questionable possibility of success.

  “Final checks; we’re lifting off,” he added, compiling the last of his equipment and attaching the final accessories he imagined he could possibly need. Between the weight of the armored suit and his full load of ammunition, he felt slow and unsteady on his feet. It wasn’t the first time, he told himself. After all, the ammunition wouldn’t last long, and once it came to combat, his body quickly found all the strength it needed to survive.

  “I assume you have a plan,” Commander Warner said, not quite in the form of asking a question but still demanding an answer. The comment, had it been delivered by a lesser-skilled officer, might have brushed on condescension; however, Warner was experienced enough to gather the facts before forming his own opinions.

  “Yes, sir. I want us far enough out from the fleet’s probable drop point that we have a straight shot at the rear of their formation. We are going to land on the nearest battleship once they arrive, engage as necessary, and reach one of the gunnery stations. From there we will target and fire upon every vessel in range, focusing on their offensive systems until we are apprehended or our platform is taken off-line.”

  Warner nodded as if considering the lieutenant’s words. The floor beneath their feet shuddered as the transport left the ground, quickly arching up and cutting through the toxic layers of New Loeria’s atmosphere. “I see,” he finally responded.

  Mercer felt the uneasy silence between them, as if the commander had more to say. He turned back to him. “Sir, your thoughts?”

  “None; negative. You’ve done well. This sounds about the best we can do, given the circumstances. With any luck, it will cause enough commotion in the fleet to at least allow a few more evacuations to escape.” He nodded in approval. “If you can get us on the floor of a landing bay, I can navigate us to some of the offensive batteries. There are a few that should be accessible.”

  “Excellent. I’ll meet you on the bridge,” Mercer said, dropping two rifles down across his chest and cinching the straps tightly to his shoulder. It wouldn’t be heavy for long.

  ***

  “Fifteen minutes to the drop,” Chief Baldric whispered to Commander Graves. “You’re sure about this?”

  “Absolutely,” Graves said. “They can take my life but not without a fight.” He took a deep breath, opened the hatch to the primary gunnery station, and vaulted over the threshold. Baldric followed and slammed the door shut, sealing them in along with the attending crew still finishing the last of their ops checks as the mission had dictated. Graves pointed his sidearm to the ceiling and fired a burst of rounds, the shards of lead snapping off the solid bulkhead above and ricocheting into the corners of the confined space.

  All eight members of the crew leapt to their feet at the noise, and Graves approached with a steadfast determination, leveling the weapon toward their chests. “All right! That’s enough out of you! Back off from your stations!” The surprise in their eyes after being fired upon was only matched by the shocking realization that the perpetrator was none other than their executive officer at the apparent behest of their command chief.

  “I told you, away from your stations. Face the wall!” Graves’ voice thundered once again, and he flagged the high-powered weapon across their bodies again to dissuade any thoughts of resistance. Graves hoped to move fast enough so as to preempt his prisoners from assembling any ideas for a heroic counterattack. They dutifully complied with their hands exposed and heads low as he pulled them away. They lined up along the side wall, allowing him to wrench their arms behind them while the chief secured each one with restraints they had recovered from among the pursuing security forces.

  “Sir, what are you…” one mumbled.

  “Shut it!” he snapped at the first and last man willing to speak up. “One more word and you’re done!” He kicked the gunner in the back of the knee, letting him drop hard against the deck before securing the man’s restraint to the wall. The rest complied without a fight, and Graves went for the cannon terminals while Baldric took a stalwart position to guard over their prisoners.

  He had timed their maneuver perfectly. Nearly every preliminary process for the deck guns had been completed and every single one was now ready to fire. “Chief Baldric, please secure the door,” he ordered without allowing his eyes to wander from the data feed on the central screen. Behind him, the chief moved aside and engaged the heavy combat lock on their hatch, sealing them safely away and earning them a few precious minutes in case the security force regrouped in time to call upon them.

  The gunner’s operational console contained a small security feed of the bridge, prominently featuring the captain pacing impatiently across the field of view, continuously glancing nervously out the forward-view screen as their target approached. It exploded from the darkness in an instant, blanketing the interior of the ship with its blue-green glow.

  “All squadrons accounted for,” he heard the operations officer radio back to the captain.

  “Excellent. All batteries build prioritized firing solution,” Richards ordered as he straightened up. “Stand by for firing command.”

  “Captain, receiving hailing call from the surface. They know we’re here.”

  Positive contact from the target had not been anticipated, as per the order’s direction. Richards shook his head, pushing aside the news. “Negative contact. Close all outbound communication channels. No one responds. Proceed with the mission.”

  ***

  Graves took a deep breath and keyed the gunner’s radio. “Captain Richards, this is your only warning, order the fleet to stand down!” he shouted into the microphone.

  On the far side, he saw Richards’ body jump at the sound of his booming voice as it screamed through the speaker, and he instantly descended upon the operations console. “And what does a traitor like you know about the nature of war?” he growled back through the channel. “When I’m through with you, the last thing you see will be the inside of a launch tube!”

  “Don’t sound so flustered,” Graves replied. “I’m not the one about to murder a planet full of civilians just to placate the designs of a damn computer. This is madness! Where the hell is your humanity?”

  “This is the only way we have peace!”

  Graves swallowed hard as his
targeting systems brought a formation of fleet ships into focus, up and down the line beside him. His finger hovered over the trigger. “Then I choose war.” He depressed the button.

  Instantly, a line of fire erupted from the battleship’s extensive rows of deck cannons, firing laterally down upon its sister vessels in a devastatingly effective explosion of force. The shots slipped through the lightly-shielded sides of the vessels and slammed hard into their skins, throwing deep red clouds of smoke, fire, and debris outward through the abyss. A single round caught a smaller destroyer, tearing through the tiny boat and sending it spinning off its axis before burning out.

  “Are you insane? Cease fire! Cease fire!” Richards exploded on the bridge, becoming more animated on the tiny monitor and throwing his arms toward the crew.

  “I will continue. Call off the attack and tell the fleet to stand down!” Graves’ expression was flat as he monitored the cannon batteries.

  The captain clenched his jaw and he stared back at the camera with the expression of a stone. “I’d rather die.”

  Commander Graves watched as the deck guns recharged back to full power before aiming across at the facing ships one more time. “Then tell your captains to stop me,” he said and hit the trigger again, letting another bolt of fire stream down across the scattering fleet of veteran warships.

  ***

  “Did you just see that?”

  Mercer heard his pilot yelling over the radio. He dropped his position by the ramp and vaulted up the stairwell to the flight deck, barely avoiding a face-plant against a low bulkhead along the way. “What? What’s going on?” he demanded, catching himself on the doorframe.

  “The damn capital ship just fired down on the rest of the fleet! Look!”

  The lieutenant felt his eyes grow wide at the sight of the formation exchanging fire not with the ground below but upon each other. “There’s a mole; someone decided to question the order. Break off the attack and keep us away from that thing.”